


Double Heart

by bonjour_rainycity



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, F/M, GiME, Girl in Middle Earth, Romance, Slow-ish burn, no memories, three years before FOTR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonjour_rainycity/pseuds/bonjour_rainycity
Summary: Cosima wakes in a strange land surrounded by men who call themselves 'elves'. She knows she has to get back to her home, but, as she starts to fall for the stoic elf who finds her, getting home sounds easier said than done. With Sauron on the rise, Arda is more dangerous than ever. Is love worth the risk?**Updates Mondays and Thursdays**
Relationships: Haldir of Lothlórien/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	1. Prologue | Cosima

_Translations: Echuio = wake up_

“Echuio.”

The voice—soft, warm, and gentle—travels through muddied waters to get to me.

A shake runs through my body and, with it, awareness. I can move my legs.

“Echuio.”

The voice speaks again, and, though I do not understand the strange sound it makes, I know I want to get closer, to find out more. I want to push my way through the water that blinds me, that pulls me deeper. I want to swim to the top and meet the voice, hear it clearly.

I want to awaken.

As soon as I register the desire, I also register resistance.

Long, powerful tendrils of exhaustion wrap around my limbs, around my waist, tugging me deeper into the endless depths of the water.

It would be _so easy_ to give in, to let the pleasure of sleep overtake me. But I want to fight. I want to kick my way to the surface, to open my eyes, to find the source of that voice.

I force my legs to move, then my arms, kicking off the cords of weariness that attempt to retain their hold on my legs. The water turns to sludge, darkening, thickening, suffocating me. My efforts become violent. I thrash, desperately trying to work my way to the surface.

“Echuio.”

The voice is clearer now, closer, and I fight that much harder. The sludge seems impossibly dense, my muscles ache for relief, my mind begs me to give in.

_Stop the fight_ , a honeyed voice croons in my ear. It promises rest and security. It promises peace.

_I could go to sleep. I could be done fighting._

“Echuio.”

A shock runs through me, shaking my body again, loosening the fog and freeing my resolve.

Giving up isn’t an option. I _must_ get to the surface.

Pushing through the pain, through the crushing feeling that I’m doing something wrong, I claw my way up.

The moment I break through the water’s barrier, the pressure leaves my chest. The fog recedes from my mind.

I register light.

Bright, harsh, offending, so different from the deep blues and browns I had been crushed under.

But I can breathe easier and, slowly, my eyes adjust. The light doesn’t seem so harsh now.

I allow myself to rest in this space for a moment, in the peaceful inbetween. Somehow I know that, if I open my eyes, if I truly make the decision to wake up, the serenity I enjoy now will disappear.

I chance a look below.

The murky waters wait for me.

They call to me.

“Echuio.”

But I do not listen.

Looking towards the light, to what I now know to be _sky_ —expansive, glorious, _free sky_ —I take a deep breath.

And open my eyes.


	2. Chapter One | Cosima

_Translations: Av-‘osto = Don’t be afraid // Odúlen le natho = I’m here to help you // Pedil edhellen = do you speak Elvish_

I was right — the peace deserts me instantly.

A sharp pain pierces my chest, my lungs ache, and my brain throbs inside my skull. A man leans over me. His long, dark hair tickles my neck. He is beautiful and smiling, but I do not know him. Fear quickens my breath. I try to jerk away from him, but he keeps a firm pressure on my shoulders, holding me in place. He meets my wide, panicked eyes with calm, reassuring ones of forest brown.

“Av-‘osto. Odúlen le natho.”

_What?_ I shake my head at him, fear temporarily making room for confusion. The words he speaks, which had proven so irresistible when I was under the weight of the water, now sound only strange and indecipherable.

I stare at him, uncomprehending and very much on my guard.

His brow furrows, and, when he speaks again, it is with a note of hesitation. “Pedil edhellen?”

“I don’t think she does.” Another voice—confident, commanding—comes from my right. I turn my head just in time to see a tall man in peculiar armor slide off his horse. He takes quick strides towards me, then crouches near my side. “What is your name?”

I find myself momentarily silenced by his proximity, as well as his eyes. They are a clear ice blue—beautiful, depthless—but cold and calculating. They hold none of the warmth the other man’s eyes do, only suspicion. As much as I don’t like behind held to the ground by him, I turn my head, searching for the deep, honest brown I met upon awaking.

He meets my gaze with a soft smile. “Do not feel fear, we are not here to harm you. We found you unconscious and alone near the river, and stopped to help.” His voice is light, unsure, and strangely accented, placing emphasis on the wrong part of the words, but I am pleased that I can understand him now. As if to illustrate his point, that I am not in danger from them, he releases his hold on my shoulders and allows me space to sit up.

“Slowly,” he cautions. “I worry you have hit your head.”

That would explain the pounding. I grimace, supporting myself on my forearms, and turn my head to observe my surroundings. It’s all very green and brown, I suppose, though vibrant, not at all like the waters I found myself trapped under. Tall grass, puddles of mud, a river behind me. I see no roads or signs to indicate where I am.

The man to my right answers my unspoken question. “You are near the Gladden Fields on the bank of the River Anduin.” I recoil. None of those words mean anything to me. I search my mind, trying to conjure up an image, a memory, anything that would give me context as to where I am.

But I come up blank.

“I will ask you again,” the man continues. His voice is hard, completely devoid of patience, and though I don’t exactly want to, I find myself turning my head to look him in the eye. “What is your name?”

Well, that answer, I know. “Cosima. What’s yours?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to stop myself from challenging him a little. I don’t like his attitude, how he acts like he doesn’t have the time to deal with me. He _is_ the one who stopped, after all.

“So she does speak,” an amused voice remarks from over the shoulder of the brown-eyed man. I jump, not previously noticing the two others—blond like the man to my right—who sit high atop large horses.

_Okay, that doesn’t seem right._

Fragments of memory come to me, brief flashes of tall buildings, busy sidewalks, and honking yellow cars.

_America_.

The name comes to me just as my own did—suddenly and detached from other clues. I piece together what I can, and am left with only the feeling that this is _wrong._ There should not be deserted, untouched land, nor men in armor who travel on horseback.

_I should not be here_ , I realize. _Wherever ‘here’ is…_.

The blond to my right stands, and I shrink back, intimidated by his height. The sword at his hip and the bow on his back make me even more wary.

“I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien. The ellon to your left is Baranor, a healer respected by the Lady herself. The ellyn on horseback are Rumil and Orophin—my brothers, and wardens of our realm. Where do you come from? Were you traveling somewhere?”

I don’t recognize half the words he says. Their language and phrasing is unfamiliar to me, which gives me reason to believe that I am not in America. My limited worldview expands slightly, and I become aware of the existence of other countries, vast seas and expansive continents. A theory begins to take form. _I must be in another country. Perhaps I was traveling, and hit my head, and now I’ve gotten separated from my group. Though, I don’t have any memory of a group…perhaps I will remember them in time. I did hit my head._

Haldir clears his throat impatiently.

“I…think I’m from America. Do you know if I’m close? Or at least which country I’m in?

For the first time, I see the irritation in his eyes break, giving way to something akin to concern. “You are in Arda.” 

I wrack my brain, searching for anything that even remotely sounds like Arda. _Africa? Armenia?_ Nothing helpful comes to mind.

Baranor, still crouched at my side, brings a gentle hand to my temple, brushing his fingers lightly over the tender skin. He notices my wince, and turns back to Haldir. “She definitely hit her head. Her mind is not fully with us…I think that, as she heals, she will speak with more sense.”

“Excuse me,” I huff, annoyed at his assessment of me and them talking as if I weren’t here. “You’re not exactly making much sense, either.”

Haldir purses his lips but gives no other indication that he’s heard me. He turns to his brothers and the three of them engage in quick conversation in that language I do not know.

I keep the three of them in the corner of my eye—just because they haven’t hurt me yet doesn’t mean I should let my guard down—and catch Baranor’s attention. “I can’t remember much—anything, really.”

He nods, looking at me with clinical concern. “I guessed as much. You remember your name and seem to have some idea where you are from, even if I do not recognize the realm. It’s better than nothing—encouraging, even. I believe your memories will return to you with time.”

_That’s something, at least._

The one called Rumil hops off his horse and swaggers up to me, crouching low like his brother did. “Are you human?”

I recoil. _What kind of question is that?_ “Of course I’m human.”

He shakes his head, a coy smile on his face. “Do not say, ‘of course’. There are many races in this realm, some much more interesting than the race of men.”

I swallow, pieces of information that I’ve gathered since waking clicking into place.

I don’t want to ask.

_Asking_ might mean _confronting_ , and I’ve only just woken up. I’m not ready for that.

But I have to. Because I’ve woken up in an unfamiliar place with people who don’t speak my language, don’t seem to know anything about the existence of my country, travel on horses, wear armor and, Rumil has just tilted his head to the side, revealing an ear that comes to a point. I bring my hand up to my own ear, checking. Yep. Not pointed.

A sinking feeling settles in my gut. I gather what courage I can. _Just ask. There’s probably a perfectly normal explanation. Maybe they’re playing a trick on me._ “Are you…not human, then?”

His teasing smile never falters and he gives a sort of mocking bow. “No, my dear lady. You have the pleasure of encountering four of the eldar. We are elves from the realm of the Lady Galadriel. We have been here long before the time of man, and we will be here long after.”

_This is ridiculous._

I push myself to stand, Baranor rushing to help. The world sways before me, and I wilt against the cool surface of his chest place. He holds me awkwardly—trying to keep as much distance between us as possible while still supporting my weight.

“I’ve hit my head,” I mutter, trying to fight through the fierce onset of dizziness and nausea. “I-I’ve been in some sort of accident, or had a strange reaction to medicine. Or maybe this is a bizarre dream, and I will wake up and laugh at myself and all this will have been in my imagination, or…or…” My breathing quickens, and I bring a hand to my forehead. _My hand is so cold. Is it meant to be that cold?_

I pitch forward, and Rumil darts a hand to grip my shoulder and keep me in place. His teasing smile disappears, and he turns to Haldir, looking alarmed. He calls out in that unknown language, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, though the motion makes me feel worse.

“Come on, you’re in _my_ dream, so you can at least speak a language I understand!”

Baranor twists to study my face, his frown deepening. He joins the indecipherable conversation.

“Not you, too,” I whine, glaring accusingly at him. Stupidly, I had already come to see him as a sort of ally. All four of them ignore me which is quite rude, considering they’re obviously talking about me. Their discussion grows heated—they’re arguing.

Dark spots dance in my line of vision and I groan, wanting to lie down. Baranor tightens his grip around me, and his voice rises in volume. _Does he have to be so_ loud _?_

Haldir barks out something that sounds very much like an order, and I focus long enough to see him mount his horse. Rumil releases my shoulder, sparing me the quickest of looks before returning to his own steed. Before I can process what’s happening, Baranor uses his grip on me to guide me towards the tall chestnut stallion.

I guess his intent.

“No!” I begin to fight against his hold. “I don’t want—”

“Hush now, it will be alright,” he soothes, his hands tightening on me as I try to get away. “We do not know of the realm you speak, but we are on a journey to a trusted friend—a wise friend—who may be able to help you. We will take you with us.”

I go stiff in his arms, weighing my options.

I have no reason to trust his word. But they haven’t hurt me yet, and the fact remains that I have no idea where I am. I probably wouldn’t fare any better on the riverbank. I don’t have food, or supplies, or a map. And traveling with them would allow me to see more of the landscape. Maybe we’ll pass a city, and I can sneak away. And from there…

Well, that’s a problem for later.

So, resigned to my situation for the time being, I nod. Baranor gives me a look of relief—I imagine he has no desire to lift a kicking woman onto a horse—and releases my shoulders to kneel and lock his hands together. I don’t particularly like heights, and this animal is much too tall for my liking, but everything about this day has been absolutely insane. I may as well get on the unpredictable beast. Baranor pushes on my foot as I pull on the horses’s mane. A second later, I’m sat firmly on the animal, Baranor in front of me. I look down to see how high up I am—a clear mistake, especially given the dizziness that hasn’t quite receded—and immediately wrap my arms around Baranor’s stomach. It’s difficult, given the armor he wears, but I manage, seeing as it gives me extra insurance that I won’t go tumbling to the ground.

“Get my attention if you feel faint,” he murmurs, taking the reins in his hands. “There is a canteen of water near your right foot if you get thirsty.”

And, before I can contemplate if I have the core strength to reach for the water _and_ stay on the horse, we’re off, racing along the riverbank and leaving behind any chance I have of turning back.


	3. Chapter Two | Cosima

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. _Power in my spirit…_ Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. _It’s okay_. _Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out._

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. _Huh. He’s right._ Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. _These elves sure have a bad view of me._ “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make _all this_ up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. _Perhaps when I wake, all will be well._

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily. 

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. _All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old._ “Well, there must be _something_ I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. _I must know how._ So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even _that_ he spoke, it’s _how._ Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

 _Courting. Elleth._ Where _am I finding all these words?_ I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I _know_ this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I _know logically_ that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

_This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep._

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.


	4. Chapter Three | Cosima

In the morning, it’s Orophin who wakes me. I accept his offer of breakfast readily, even if it’s more of the same bread and now-soggy fruit. Rumil offers me a knowing smile, promising more interesting food once we sit at Elrond’s table, and I hold on to that hope. After a hasty breakfast, I work on finishing mending the two tunics. I’m nearly done when I feel a presence behind me and turn my head.

Haldir stands, tall and intimidating as ever, peering over my shoulder.

I purse my lips, trying to hold in a laugh. His behavior is so much stranger than that of the others. “Yes?”

He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing my work, then nods once. “That will do. Thank you for your work.” He raises his voice so all can hear. “We leave in ten minutes.” He holds out a hand, and I place the shirts there, still trying to get over hearing the words ‘thank you’ from him. I honestly didn’t think he was the type.

_The more you know, I guess._

Like the others, I hurry to pack my things. Because, over the limited time I’ve spent with this group, I quickly came to realize that when Haldir says ten minutes, he _actually means ten minutes,_ and _only_ ten minutes _._ I stifle a laugh. Mara would never—

A gasp tears through my throat, and I drop my bag.

Sharp _tings_ ring through the air — the sound of metals scraping against each other. Absently, I recognize it as the sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards.

Haldir appears at my side, gripping my elbow and drawing me nearer to him. “What is it?” His voice is low, urgent, and, though he speaks to me, his eyes never pause their scan of our surroundings.

Belatedly, I realize my error. _Of course they would think I saw something of concern._ But the memory is taking form now, my head begins to pound and ache with the effort, and I have to work to assemble a sentence. I don’t want to lose focus, to lose the memories. “No, it’s—” I try to explain, try to communicate that we’re not in any danger—that I know of. “I only…” I bring a hand to my temple and take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “It’s not an attack, sorry for scaring you guys. It’s just, well, I’m remembering something.”

Baranor jogs over to me, sheathing his sword. Haldir is much slower to relax, and releases my arm in favor of walking the perimeter of our camp.

“Tell us about it,” Baranor encourages. “It might help you recall more.”

“It’s nothing helpful or important,” I preface apologetically, but he only waves it off.

“Any memory is a sign of recovery. Now, go on!”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to remember as much as possible. The initial ache in my head is fading, though it sharpens when I try to concentrate too hard on any one detail. “I was thinking of how I better hurry up and get my supplies together because Haldir is the type of person—well, you guys would say _ellon_ , I guess—who means what he says, so I sure as hell better be ready in ten minutes. Then, out of nowhere, I remembered a friend from home—Mara. She’s…” the memory warps and dips out of sight, but I chase after it, feeling my pulse race. _I want to remember. I want to know more._ The memory comes back to me and I am rewarded for my efforts with more details about my friend. “She’s taller than me but shorter than you, has a pixie cut, and always wears these ridiculous blue sneakers, no matter the occasion.” I feel a pang of fondness for this important person I’ve only just remembered. _Is this what missing someone is like?_ “But I think she came to mind because she’s _always late_ , to the point where, if I hosted a party or something, I would have to tell her it started earlier than it did in the hope that she would show up on time. Oh, it would make—” And the progress stops. I strain my mind, trying to force it to go deeper, to learn more, to try harder, but nothing happens. All I receive in return is a splitting headache, one that makes me grimace against the pain. I can’t remember anything else about Mara, or place her in any other memories, or find the person she always angered with her tardiness.

Feeling a little defeated, I shrug.

Baranor gives me an encouraging smile, shaking his head. “You are doing well. I think, with adequate rest and time for your head to heal, and perhaps some intervention of Elrond’s, you will have your memory restored. Do not lose hope.”

I accept his reassurance, as well as his leg-up for the horse, and spend the remainder of the morning wracking my brain, searching for more memories of a friend I didn’t know I had.

{***}

By midday, the sun is bearing down on us hotter than it has before. I shed my cloak, using my newly acquired riding proficiency to keep my balance while tucking the fabric into my bag. I glance at my companions, each of whom wears a metal chest plate, a bow and quiver on his back, and various swords and knives on his belt. It makes _me_ feel overheated just looking at them. “How are you all not miserable in that armor? I’m burning up and I’m just in a tunic and leggings!”

“Ah, dear Cosima, you are mistaken.” Rumil pulls up next to me and Baranor, shaking his head in mock sadness. “You see, we are miserable. We are absolutely _baking_ with all the added weight we carry.”

From his spot ahead of us, Orophin snorts, a noise I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from him. “This is nothing, little brother. You weren’t part of the guard when Haldir made us run for miles during the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the summer in full battle armor and weaponry for seven days in a row.”

“Ah, yes.” Haldir chimes in, and I can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It softens it slightly, makes him sound less harsh. “I remember that drill. Perhaps I should bring it back. It seems the newer members of the guard aren’t as well-adjusted as those who went through such special training.”

Rumil visibly pales. “Haldir you wouldn’t.”

“Oh I most certainly would,” he shoots back, his signature haughty tone coming forth once again. But he turns his head over his shoulder, giving his youngest brother a teasing look.

I laugh, caught off guard by Haldir’s playfulness and Rumil’s woeful expression. Haldir returns facing forward and rolls his shoulder back, seeming perfectly pleased with the knowledge that he can still torment his little brother. I twist to stick my tongue out at Rumil, who responds with a glare.

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Cosima.” I snap my head back in Haldir’s direction. _Surely he’s not…_ “If you decide to return to Lothlórien with us, I am having you fitted with armor for the return journey.” He turns over his shoulder once more, fixing me with a single raised eyebrow. “And it will be well into summer by then.”

He turns away, apparently not phased by the quiet chuckles of Orophin and Baranor, nor the gleeful guffaws of Rumil.

“Rude,” I mutter under my breath, but this only makes them all laugh harder.

The sparse cloud cover shifts and the rays of the sun concentrate on the top of my head. Its warmth knots and multiples in the tangles of my hair, and I want nothing more than to have some relief from the awful heat. I grimace, wishing I had something to use to put my hair up. I steal jealous looks at my companions who call themselves elves. _Their_ hair is just as long as mine and it doesn’t seem to bother them one bit. While mine collects frizz like it’s gold, their hair remains perfectly straight and smooth, falling over their shoulders almost languidly. My inspection of their hair reveals something I hadn’t taken much notice of before — the subtle yet intricate braids each of them wears. And though there is hair wrapped around the end of each braid, obscuring what I hope is there, something _has_ to be holding the braids in place—right? Otherwise, they would fall and sit straight like the hair is made to.

It’s worth the ask.

I raise my voice a bit, calling out to the whole group. “Long shot, but does anyone have a hair tie? Preferably big enough for me to get around all of my hair?”

Orophin and Baranor shake their heads. Rumil makes a show of checking his wrists and the pouch attached to his belt, but comes back with only a look of apology.

_Shoot._

Though he never falters in keeping his horse at a quick pace, I notice Haldir twist slightly, rummaging through one of his bags. Quick as a flash, he tosses something behind him which Rumil catches easily, though I myself can barely follow the object’s movements. Rumil grins, presenting me with a tan, thin circle of leather. He demonstrates spreading his fingers and the leather stretches.

I take the hair tie, smiling broadly. _Perfect_. “Thanks, Haldir!” He says nothing, only nods in acknowledgment. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. _He’s back to business, then._

Rumil brings his horse closer to the one Baranor and I ride, and I notice even Orophin shooting me interested looks. I raise an eyebrow self-consciously. “What?”

Rumil scrutinizes the hair tie, then the waves that fall down my back. “What are you going to do with a tie that large?”

I squint, partially at the shift in the sun’s angle, and partially in confusion at Rumil’s question. “I’m…going to put it up in a bun?” The looks they give me have me questioning my choice. _Is that wrong, somehow?_

Baranor tilts his head towards me as much as he can. “A bun?”

“Yeah, I—wait.” I pause, recalling that they only way they’ve worn their hair so far is down with the small braids added in. “Do you guys leave your hair down all the time?”

“For the most part.” Rumil shrugs. “Sometimes during battle or heavy training we will tie it all back in one or a few braids, but elves traditionally let their hair grow long and leave it down.”

“Interesting,” I murmur, taking the time to really look at each of their heads. Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin’s braids have similarities, but are in no way identical, and Baranor’s are completely different. I begin to catch on. “So, do the braids mean something, then?”

“Exactly,” Rumil nods, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s up to the elf to decide what to put in their hair, but most at least indicate where they hail from and from which family. Most warriors will denote who they are with braids—healers and scholars, too. If you are courting, that’s a specific braid as well, to show other elves that you are off-limits unless the courtship is broken.”

I smile, seeing their hair in a whole new light. “I never knew they meant something. The braids are beautiful.”

Rumil tosses his hair in my direction, letting me see the interlocking twists and tucks of a complicated ladder braid. “Mine the most, right?”

I roll my eyes, shooting my cheeky companion a grin. “If you say so.”

But all this talk of hair is reminding me just how hot my own is making me, and I am endlessly grateful for the means to put it up. I grip the horse tighter with my legs, preparing to release my arms from Baranor’s stabilizing middle. “Don’t let me fall,” I whisper, nerves gathering in my stomach as I chance a look at the ground passing under the horse’s thundering hooves.

“Of course,” he nods, and I swear the horse rides smoother.

Tentatively, I unwrap my arms from the thing that steadies me, putting more hope into my legs to keep me on the horse. I take a few deep breaths, straightening my back and keeping myself as still as possible while continuing to rock with the horse. Once I feel solid, I reach my hands up, gathering my hair. I don’t remember the last time I did this, but the muscle memory is there. I pull my hair into a high ponytail, beginning to twist the long strands around each other.

The horse jolts and I suck in a breath, feeling my body jerk to the right. Rumil shoots out an arm, steading me quickly. I give him a look of relieved thanks and continue, twisting my hair with one hand and wrapping the tie with the other. From the corner of my eye, I notice Orophin slow his horse a little, falling back to ride closer to us. He alternates between watching our surroundings and shooting curious glances at my hair. With a final twist, the bun is secured, and I take a moment to pull at the top and the sides so it’s not too tight.

Smiling broadly, I drop my arms, wrapping them around Baranor once again. “Ha! I did it!”

“Great job,” Rumil grins, voice thick with sarcasm. “Soon you will be able to shoot a bow while riding at a full gallop.”

Orophin snorts at his brother’s joke, speeding up once again to return to his place near Haldir.

“Oh, be quiet,” I snark, just happy to have a little relief from the heat.

A low bird call sounds from somewhere around us, and I tilt my head upwards, looking for the source. I’ve never heard a twitter like that before. “What kind—”

“Shh,” Rumil hisses, all traces of humor gone. I turn to him in confusion, then notice the way each of them sits straighter, more tense, a hand on the weapon nearest to him. I shrink against Baranor, heart beginning to race.

Something’s wrong.

I guess I wouldn’t know for sure, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I’ve never been in a fight. And, while I have no reason to doubt these men that I’ve somehow come to trust in such a short time, how can I _really_ know if they are as great warriors as they say? For all I know, their perception of themselves could be horribly skewed, and we’re about to be attacked and overpowered.

I feel my hands shaking.

Baranor inclines his head in my direction, catching my attention. “It’s alright. It is just one man, as far as we can tell, but Haldir will want to ascertain that we are not walking into a trap. Stay silent and do not draw attention to yourself. We are going to approach him.”

As if on some unspoken order, Haldir and Orophin draw their swords. Rumil takes the bow from his back and smoothly nocks an arrow. I try to exhale quietly, fear making my breath catch in my throat. I tighten my grip around Baranor and press my forehead against the cool metal of his chest plate. Part of me feels incredibly wimpy hiding behind him, but the part of me in charge of survival instincts says I should be doing more…like, running in the opposite direction, perhaps.

Our horses slow and I try calm my racing heart.

We come to a stop.

“Identify yourself.” Haldir’s voice is always strong, always full of authority, but this is like I’ve never heard it before. It rings with both confidence and the sharp edge of a threat. If this was my first encounter with him, I would be shaking in my boots.

Silence.

I can practically feel the tension in the air.

The stress of not knowing what’s going on, not knowing what I’m facing, adds to my fear. I exhale, gathering my courage. _I’m gonna have to look._ Leaving myself no time to change my mind, I stretch my head to the side, peeking around Baranor’s shoulder.

And the memories come rushing back.

“Alex,” I breathe, my body feeling hot and cold all at once.

His head snaps from Haldir’s to mine, and the color drains from his face. “Cosima!”

I swing my leg over the horse’s back and jump to the ground. I’ve never gotten off the horse without help, and the force with which I hit the earth sends shocks of pain up my body. I ignore it, pushing myself to meet Alex as he runs towards me. We collide, gripping each other in a tight hug.

“What,” I gasp, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. I burst into tears. “What are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here, what about _you_?” He pulls back slightly, gripping my arms and looking me over. “Why are you crying, what’s wrong? Have they hurt you?” He sends an accusatory glare at the men behind me.

I follow his gaze, noticing for the first time that Orophin has dismounted and stands near my shoulder, glowering at Alex.

I hurry to set the record straight. “No. No, they’ve been nothing but kind and helpful.” I sniffle, running a sleeve over my cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He smiles, placing a hand on my neck and pulling me back into a hug. “It’s okay. It’s just the stress.” At his words and the comforting motion of his hand running up and down my back, my tears begin to subside.

I hear the soft sound of boots connecting with dirt and turn just in time to see Haldir striding up to us, falling in line next to Orophin. Like his brother, he sets Alex with a hard, untrusting gaze. “You are traveling alone?”

Alex’s jaw tightens. “You kidnapped my friend?”

I twist out of Alex’s hold, turning so I can keep both him and my companions in view.

Haldir’s expression doesn’t change, he only raises his chin in defiance of Alex’s accusation. “We are elves, guardians of the great realm of Lothlórien, traveling upon invitation to Imladris. We found Cosima alone, like you, and offered her our aid. If, perhaps, you become more cooperative, we would be prepared to extend the same offer to you.”

Alex leans forward and Haldir raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to make a move. Orophin’s weight shifts to his back foot. I angle myself to face Alex, gripping his elbows. “It’s okay, honestly. If it weren’t for them I’d be dead by now. They can help you, too. Just answer their questions.”

Alex continues to glare, but I can see the resolve leave him. He looked peaked, and weak, and dark shadows sit under his hazel eyes. _How long has he been here? Would I look like this, if the others hadn’t found me?_

“Yes,” he acquiesces. “I’m traveling alone. I woke up on the riverbank three days ago and have been wandering around looking for civilization since. I don’t remember anything before that other than my name—Alexander. Now I remember Cosima too, and my nickname, I guess.”

Baranor slides off his horse, joining us with the bag I recognize as the one keeping his healing supplies. Haldir holds up a hand, stopping Baranor’s approach.

“Two humans that know each other wake up on the bank of the same river on the same day with no memory. One was strange enough, but _two?_ ” He looks between me and Alex, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps Elrond can offer insight.” 

“Elrond,” Alex questions, his voice guarded once again.

I explain before Haldir and his attitude can. “He’s a friend of theirs in a city across the mountains. That’s where they’re traveling, so it’s where we’re going, too.”

Alex sets me with a look that quite obviously questions my sanity. “You agreed to follow them to another _town through the mountains_?”

I recoil at his tone, as well as the attack on my common sense. “Yes, I did. Because they’re nice and my only other option was waiting along the riverbank hoping another equally helpful party came along. Because if you haven’t noticed, Alex, there aren’t any cities here. It’s not like I can just walk up to someone’s house and call for help.”

He sighs, running a hand through his unkempt sandy hair. “But you could have waited. I was walking in that direction, I would have found you eventually.”

I throw my hands in the air, actually annoyed now. “There’s no way either of us could have known the other was here! I woke up the same as you did—with nothing. No context, no memories, no supplies. In light of that, I don’t think we’re in the position to be picky when help comes our way. We have to adapt, Alex, and quickly. It won’t end well for us if we don’t.”

His lip curls back at my words. I try to soften my tone, knowing we are heading for an argument and that isn’t helpful to anyone right now. “You’re tired. You’ve been wandering for three days, I’m guessing without enough food or rest. Let us help you.”

Alex looks between me and the men behind me. With a start, I realize that I’ve just encountered a long-lost friend, someone quite important to me based on the onslaught of memories, and, to him, it must seem that I’m abandoning him in favor of taking the side of these newcomers. Guilt weighs uncomfortably in my stomach.

“Okay,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll go along with this— _for now.”_

Haldir nods, already walking towards his horse. “We ride until nightfall, then we will stop for food and rest. Be prepared to ride hard. We must make up for the time we lost with all this bickering.” Aside from the usual command in his tone, there’s a note of annoyance. He is _so_ impatient.

I give Alex one last hug, feeling bad for my treatment of him. He’s my only link to my home, the only person here I can really, truly trust. I shouldn’t be at odds with him. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.” He doesn’t respond, only follows me to the horses.

Baranor bends to give me a leg up, but a voice halts us both. “Cosima, you ride with Rumil now. Baranor—keep Alexander on the back of your horse.”

 _Why?_ I glance at Haldir in confusion. He eyes me steadily, shaking his head once. I sigh, deciding to go along with it. I give Baranor a small wave of goodbye and join Rumil.

“On to bigger and better things, then?” He winks, kneeling and locking his fingers together.

“Oh, shut up,” I roll my eyes, chuckling as I step into his hands and swing my leg over the horse. He settles in front of me and takes the reins, and, before I know it, this company of five has become a company of six.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thanks for reading! If you prefer to read on Tumblr, you can find me @bonjour-rainycity. I'd love to know your thoughts -- drop a comment below!


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